


Wrap My Hands Around Your Neck So Tight With Love

by MermaidSmiled



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Breathplay, Choking, Dom/sub Undertones, Hazing, M/M, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 20:55:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4639902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidSmiled/pseuds/MermaidSmiled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t stop himself when he thinks about it at night when he’s in bed. He lets himself remember the head rush of the first breath after the pressure on his airway stopped, and he lets his hand trace over his neck where the bruising was, long since faded. He lets his hand slowly drift down his chest and over his stomach, pressing into bruises from pucks and checks before it slips under the waistband of his boxers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrap My Hands Around Your Neck So Tight With Love

**Author's Note:**

> Everything started with [this](https://40.media.tumblr.com/4dc3c6123dc04884e24e2f617351f54a/tumblr_nlxa87Npd91u6a1fao1_500.jpg) picture.
> 
> Fic contains description of hazing that goes wrong (not seriously, though it could have been), consensual breathplay and choking that really could have been discussed better, and episodes of subspace. If you think anything else should be tagged/warned for please let me know!

They’ve joked before, about how Alex is like a puppy. They laugh about how he follows them around like a lost puppy, they’ve patted his head like they’re petting a dog, they tell him they’re going for walkies when they go jogging together. Alex doesn’t think he minds it really, it’s just chirping, and he’s heard a lot worse like time Joe came into the changing room with a hickey blooming on his neck.

They’re not friends, really. They’re a team, sure, but they don’t hang out that much when they’re not playing or practicing. He sees them around school but he has his own friends in his classes. He does homework instead of hanging out with them when they’re on the road.

Things take a bit of a turn when they’ve just finished a practice and they’re getting changed. Most of them have already left or are getting dressed, but he hung back to ask coach a question. Alex strips off his gear and hangs it in his stall, then grabs his towel and heads to the showers. He hears low voices in a hissed conversation and thinks nothing of it until he rounds the corner of the showers and the conversation cuts off immediately as 7 heads swivel to look at him.

He stops, and they all stare at him for a few beats until the guy closest to him smiles. Derek is older than him, broader and taller than him too, so Alex goes to him when Derek waves him over. Alex isn’t stupid, he knows there’s something going on, so his shoulders tense when an arm is thrown around him and he’s pulled against Derek’s side like they’re best friends. 

Derek pulls him over to the rest of the guys with a faux-casual, “c’mere Gally”, too cheery to be anything genuine. He pulls Alex in front of him and his meaty fists clamp down on his biceps to hold him there. He tugs against them a little but Derek doesn’t budge. He doesn’t think he could get away if he tried.

They start towards him slowly and he watches them cautiously. Everyone knows pranks in the locker rooms are a part of team life, a part of life as a teenager in general, so he waits to see what they’re going to do with equal dread and resignation.

Alex realises when Fred moves that he’d had his hands behind his back, and now they’re reaching towards him with something black in his hand, but Alex can’t see what it is. He doesn’t have time to get a good look because Joe has moved to Derek’s side without him noticing and he pulls Alex’s head back so that his neck is bared.

His struggles against the iron grip on his arms renew when he feels hands at his neck and he stops suddenly when something clicks into place and the hands fall away, replaced by a heavy feeling around his neck.

Alex frowns, utterly confused. They’ve put something around his neck, a collar? It feels heavy, resting where his neck meets his shoulders, not cold because it’s been held in someone’s hands.

“There. Now the puppy gets his collar.” Something clanks behind him when he turns to look at Brad, who’s smirking, not kindly.

Derek shoves him forward without warning and he stumbles but doesn’t fight him again. His head feels funny, he feels like he’s three steps behind everyone else and he can’t seem to react to anything fast enough. It’s like his head is filled with treacle, or cotton wool maybe, because his thoughts are slow and sluggish.

They’ve moved him over to the pegs on the wall for towels and Derek turns him so that he’s facing away from the wall. He thinks he sees Joe move behind him and then he’s being shoved backwards and there’s a tug on the collar and the clink of metal on metal. They move away from him and Derek lets go of his arms. He feels a chill on his skin where Derek’s hands had been.

“Stay,” one of them commands, “there’s a good boy.”

Alex moves backwards to hold himself up against the wall but yelps when his skin hits the cold of the tiles. He pulls away and stops sharply when the collar doesn’t move with him, caught on something. He hears them laugh at him, still standing and watching him. His brain hasn’t caught up yet, so he moves forward again and the same thing happens. They’ve attached him to the towel rack.

Alex doesn’t move back the second time and the collar presses against his throat. He pulls further forward, almost testing, and gasps when the collar pulls tight enough to cut off his air a little. He hears laugher again but this time it’s more distant, even though he can see them all stood in front of him and they haven’t moved.

Alex starts to panic a little, too fuzzy still to stop and think rationally or to calm down, and he continues to pull against the collar trying to get away. No one moves to help him and he panics more, his hands scrabble at the band around his neck to try and get it off and he’s still pulling forwards. He can’t breathe, his eyes are wide and brow is furrowed, he can feel his pulse pounding at his temples.

He feels someone’s hand in the centre of his chest pushing him backwards, which relieves the pressure on his throat a little, enough for him to gasp a breath. The air floods his lungs and he feels lightheaded with it, adrenaline surging through his veins. The thick syrupy feeling in his head is getting worse, but it doesn’t really feel bad.

He dimly realises the hand is still on his chest and he looks up, sees Derek in front of him and the rest of the group behind. They’re all watching him, and Alex feels himself flush under the weight of their gaze, a mix of humiliation and something that feels entirely different, like a slow burn under his skin that he can’t put a name to.

The towel rack is high enough that it pulls the collar up to nestle under his chin but he’s tall enough that it doesn’t pull that much when his back is against the wall.

Derek’s hand pulls away from his chest and he chases it, fast enough that he jerks when the collar stops him and he can’t breathe again. The panic doesn’t come back this time, his head feels so thick and heavy and he can’t think through it at all now.

Alex feels the heaviness spread to his limbs and he leans back against the wall, the slack it creates allowing him another breath that goes straight to his head, and when his shoulders slump it pulls the collar upwards enough to cut his air off once again.

He feels oddly disconnected from his body. He can still feel the collar at his throat, like an anchor, but he feels like he’s floating. His eyes have fallen closed and he can’t focus, can’t feel anything other than the burning in his lungs.

\---

When he opens his eyes he’s lying on his side on damp tiles in the showers, and he’s alone. He’s cold and his shirt is damp, and he can’t hear anything from the changing room. He picks himself up and stretches out his back, stiff from lying on the floor for he doesn’t know how long.

Alex dresses slowly. His head is still a little fuzzy and his coordination suffers for it. He shoves his feet into his trainers and shoves the laces inside instead of tying them, pulls off his damp t-shirt and just zips his hoodie over his bare chest, pulls on jeans and gives up on his belt when he can’t pull it back through his buckle properly. His hands keep drifting to his neck where he can still feel the phantom pressure of the collar.

His limbs feel heavier with every minute he spends dressing and shoving his stuff back into his bag. He realises he’s exhausted and he has a moment of gratitude that he doesn’t have far to walk before he can collapse into bed and sleep it off, and then has to spend another minute making himself focus enough to do up his bag so he can leave.

\---

 By the time Alex gets home he feels like he’s been bag skated, or like someone’s tied lead weights to his ankles. His head feels as heavy as his limbs and he’s fighting to stay focused. He almost cries when he realises that there aren’t any cars parked outside because that means he has to remember where his key is and find it.

By the time he’s managed to open the door and get inside he’s ready to collapse, and it’s only because he’s had practice pushing his body to work past the point of exhaustion that he makes it up the stairs.

He pauses only to drop his backpack on the floor and toe off his shoes before he’s curling up into a ball under his duvet, suddenly cold down to his bones. He falls asleep almost immediately, unable to think past the fog of exhaustion and the buzzing in his head.

\---

The next time they have practice none of them will look at him. On the ice everything is normal, the guys who weren’t involved don’t know there’s any reason for things to be different, and the guys who do still work well with him when they’re on his line, they still throw the occasional chirp, but there’s never any mention of him being a puppy again. There’s no teasing banter, there’s no friendly hip checks and there’s definitely no play fighting. Off the ice they don’t look at him, don’t talk to him, they don’t even acknowledge him when they pass each other in the hallways anymore.

Alex isn’t bothered by it. It doesn’t affect his hockey and he wouldn’t have called them friends before what happened, so he doesn’t feel like he’s lost anything. It doesn’t stop him from thinking about it though.

The morning after it had happened he woke up with a thick bruise across his throat where the collar had been, livid in the light of the bathroom. He had stood in front of the mirror staring at it and tracing it with light fingers, probing at the edges to feel the dull ache of a fresh bruise, until his mother shouted up the stairs to hurry up or he’d be late for school. He wore a hoodie around the house and to school for a few days afterwards until it had faded enough not to draw attention. He wouldn’t have known how to explain it if someone had asked.

Sometimes when he drifts off in slow lessons he thinks about it. About the feeling of something around his throat, and about Derek’s hand on his arms and his chest, and he has to stop himself before he embarrasses himself in front of his class.

He doesn’t stop himself when he thinks about it at night when he’s in bed. He lets himself remember the head rush of the first breath after the pressure on his airway stopped, and he lets his hand trace over his neck where the bruising was, long since faded. He lets his hand slowly drift down his chest and over his stomach, pressing into bruises from pucks and checks before it slips under the waistband of his boxers.

Sometimes when he’s lying in bed with come cooling on his skin he feels a hollowness inside his chest, like he’s missing something.

He thinks about it a lot.

\---

By the time he’s 18 and he’s been drafted by the Canadiens he doesn’t really think about it anymore. Alex’s time is taken up trying to prove that they chose right when they picked him and that he deserves to be there, and his head is full of new names and systems.

Prust somehow targets him and takes him under his wing at the same time. There’s a lot of arms around shoulders and friendly punches and play fighting to go with the little words of wisdom and encouraging nods, and it’s almost odd to have so much physical contact again after being avoided by the people he played with.

\---

It happens later, after he’s been taken into an office with the GM and the head coach and told that he definitely had a place on their team, he’s staying up with them to play in the NHL.

It happens almost the same as it did before. They’ve just finished a practice and everyone has either already left or is still in the showers. Alex is pulling off his pads and throwing chirps over his shoulder to Prusty, who reacts by grabbing him by the back of his shirt and trying to get him in a headlock.

Alex doesn’t have any real fighting experience and certainly nothing like Prusty has, but he manages to get his hands on Brandon’s shoulders enough to hold him off, and Brandon’s hands end up on his shoulders in the same way. They’re pushing at each other and the hands on his shoulders slip towards his neck.

Brandon’s hands meet around his neck with his thumbs in the hollow of his collarbones and Alex drops like he’s a puppet and his strings have been cut. He ends up on his knees with his hands hanging at his sides, concentrating on the feeling of Prusty’s hands. Alex has a moment of panic when Brandon starts to pull his hands away and doesn’t think about it before his hands are flying up to grab Brandon’s wrists to keep his hands around his neck.

He flushes when he realises what he’s done but doesn’t let go, and he can’t open his eyes yet. He hears Brandon’s intake of breath before he says his name, hushed and questioning.

He keeps his hands around Brandon’s wrists when he presses forwards into them, and sighs shakily when the pressure makes it harder to breathe.

He hasn’t thought about it for months now. He’d tried to do it himself a few weeks after the incident in the showers but it didn’t feel the same, and he wasn’t brave or stupid enough to dare try putting anything around his neck and tying himself to something. He’s forgotten how much he wanted it.

He opens his eyes and tries to look up but his gaze gets stuck around Brandon’s mouth, he can’t make himself look him in the eyes. He feels the embarrassment and pressure on his neck, so much better than dim memories, run together to quiet the buzzing in his head.

A bark of laughter from just outside the locker room startles them both and breaks the moment. They both drop their hands and move away, Brandon back to his stall and Alex picking himself up of the floor just before PK and Price walk in.

Alex feels the embarrassment start to seep in. He feels like an idiot, who reacts like that to play fighting? Who goes to their knees in front of a teammate? What if someone walked it, or what if Prusty tells someone? He’s going to get kicked off the team for sure, he’s just blown his chance at making something of himself because he can’t control himself and he-

His thoughts cut off when he feels a hand on his arm and he lets himself be turned, looks up to see Prusty.

“Come out for lunch with me,” He says, and it doesn’t sound like a question so he just nods and Prusty leaves him to hit the showers.

When he’s finished and he’s dressed again, he looks up and sees Prusty waiting for him. They walk to his car in silence and Alex is so caught up in his head that he doesn’t know where they are until the car stops and he looks up at a house, rather than a diner. He looks at Brandon in question.

“Come on,” Brandon says, and gets out of the car.

Alex follows him to the door and into the kitchen, folds himself into a chair when Brandon tells him to. He doesn’t look up when he does the same on the opposite side of the table. The silence stretches until Brandon finally clears his throat.

“Chucky, you’re -” he stops and pauses, tries again “you can’t just do that in the middle of the room, eh?” Alex is flushing, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Have you ever done anything like that before? With someone else?” He asks, and moves his head to try and catch Alex’s gaze, and when he doesn’t continue talking Alex swallows.

“Not properly,” he mumbles. He still can’t bring himself to meet Brandon’s eyes.

“I- ok. Do you know what you’re asking for?”

He’s waiting for an answer again, but Alex doesn’t know what to say. The conversation isn’t really going how he expected it to, if he’s honest nothing has gone like he expected since Prusty asked him to lunch instead of telling him to keep his distance.

Brandon is still waiting for an answer and Alex still can’t give it. Is he asking for something? It wasn’t really something he did consciously, he just reacted to the feeling of something around his neck after so long and didn’t want it to stop.

“It just feels good?” is what he finally replies with. It still doesn’t answer the question but it’s the best he’s got.

He sees Brandon nod a little to himself out the corner of his eye. The silence makes Alex’s stomach clench.

“Do you want to do it again?”

Alex’s heart stops for a second. Yes, is his immediate answer, but he can’t make himself say it. He does want it, but he’s embarrassed and he’s nervous. He really likes Brandon, as a friend and as a teammate, and if he’s totally honest he likes him a bit more than that, but what if this isn’t an offer. Alex feels stupid, because of course it isn’t, he wants to know if Alex is going to make it weird or if he needs to avoid him. He swallows and he flushes deeper, the shame mixing with embarrassment.

He’s so caught up that he hasn’t noticed Brandon standing up and moving around the table until he feels a hand around the side of his neck and a thumb under his chin, gentle but insistent pressure forcing him to tilt it until he’s looking at Brandon’s face.

It’s serious, but there isn’t any disgust or malice in it.

“I’m gonna ask you a question and you’re gonna answer it, okay?” he waits until Alex nods, more a jerk of his head, before he continues, “do you want me to choke you?”

“Yes. Please.” Alex’s voice is barely more than a whisper.

Brandon nods and his face lifts, not quite a smile but it soothes something inside Alex all the same.

He keeps his head tilted up even when Brandon’s thumb settles over his throat and his other hand wraps around the other side of his neck. He squeezes gently and the breath leaves Alex in a rush. It’s so much better than dim memories, but it’s not enough at the same time.

The first squeeze was testing, and the second is the real thing. Alex’s eyes fall shut when he tries to take a breath and finds he can’t.

“Open your eyes, Chucky.” Brandon’s voice is firm, commanding, and it makes something hot stir in Alex’s stomach. He opens his eyes and finds Brandon’s eyes again.

When his grip relaxes he takes a greedy breath and the burning in his lungs fades. His head feels light already.

The hands tighten again and it feels even better, Brandon squeezes a little harder this time, and all the times Alex has thought about this haven’t prepared him for it at all. His eyes fall closed again.

“Stay with me, kiddo,” Brandon is smiling a little when he drags his eyes open, “there you go”.

Alex drags another breath in when he loosens up again, his chest heaves with it.

Brandon does it a few more times, every time having to remind Alex to keep his eyes open. Alex’s head feels empty and he’s slightly giddy with it, his focus is narrowed to the feeling of Brandon’s hands on his neck and trying to stop himself from closing his eyes. He finds that he likes that Brandon’s told him to do something, and he feels a small thrill when he does what’s asked of him, a sense of achievement. He wants to do good, wants to _be_ good.

When Brandon loosens his grip on Alex’s throat for good Alex makes a noise in the back of his throat. He doesn’t want to lose that point of contact. He feels a little floaty, not enough that he’s completely unaware of anything else, but he enjoys the way Brandon’s touch grounds him and doesn’t want it to go away yet.

“You’re okay,” Brandon murmurs, and he keeps his hands on Alex’s shoulders, his thumbs resting in the dips above his collarbones, and Alex is happy.

They stay like that for a little while, and Alex keeps his eyes closed. The silence is comfortable and he lets himself enjoy the sense of contentment that’s settled over him like a blanket, making him loose and warm.

“Hey, Chucky,” Brandon’s voice is soft enough not to startle him, “Okay?”

He doesn’t quite know how to make words yet, he feels like he’s somewhere in between asleep and awake, so he makes a noise that he hopes is enough. Brandon laughs softly so he guesses it was.

“I’m gonna make us something to eat, okay? You just stay there,” he pulls a hand off Alex’s shoulders, and waits for Alex respond with a nod before he removes the other.

He hears Brandon turn on the tap and opens his eyes when he hears something thunk on the table in front of him.

“Take your time. Drink this.” There’s a glass of water on the table.

Alex keeps his eyes open and watches Brandon moving around the kitchen while he sips the water. He feels good, his head isn’t floaty anymore but his whole body feels light, and it’s nice. His head is empty and he’s relaxed.

They eat scrambled eggs and bacon and drink Gatorade, and when they’re done Brandon dumps the dishes in the sink for later and pulls him over to the sofa. They’re not pressed together in the middle of the huge leather suite but their knees are touching and it makes something in Alex unclench. Things aren’t weird, he didn’t make things awkward, so he figures he can relax and enjoy the looseness in his limbs and waste a few hours on some trashy daytime TV with Prusty.

Brandon drives him home a few hours later and Alex still feels good, and when he goes to bed that night he’s not thinking about anything but he’s content.

\---

Alex sees Prusty the next day at morning skate and everything is normal, as if nothing had happened, and he’s glad for it. He’d been a little nervous this morning about ruining a good friendship before it really took off, but it’s fine. They skate, they mess around, and they both go for lunch with a group of the guys. It’s all normal.

Alex tells himself he isn’t disappointed. Nothing is awkward, he avoided a potentially major incident in the locker room, and he got something he didn’t know that he’d ever have again. The last time it happened he thought about it for months and it was enough to get him by until he didn’t need it anymore, and he can do that again this time.

He catches himself staring at Prusty’s hands a few times, but he’s definitely not disappointed that he hasn’t brought it up again. He thinks about it a lot, though.

Alex tells himself he’s getting off on the memory of hands around his neck. It has nothing to do with whose hands they were. It’s fine.

\---

It’s a couple of weeks later when it happens again.

Alex still thinks about it every night, but he’s over the not-disappointment of not getting to do it again, so he thinks nothing of it when Prusty asks him if he wants to get something to eat, but doesn’t open the invitation to the rest of the room.

He follows him out to the car, and when they turn right instead of left, heading away from the places they usually eat at and towards Prusty’s house he doesn’t let himself remember what happened last time, but there isn’t really a sense of hope in it. He’s accepted the fact that it was a one-time thing. Mostly.

When they get inside Brandon starts making food, giving Alex simple tasks to do and telling him what to get out of the fridge. It’s nothing fancy, just chicken and pasta, but food is food. They move to the table to eat

Alex is a few bites in when Brandon clears his throat.

“So we uh, messed up a bit last time,” is what he comes out with.

Alex’s stomach drops and he swallows his mouthful, it tastes like ashes in his mouth. Brandon must see some of Alex’s disappointment in his face.

“I don’t mean- I mean it’s not good to do something like that without talking about it properly. What if something happened, or what if you wanted to stop?” Brandon’s looking at him like he expects some input but Alex doesn’t know what to say. That seems to be a trend when he’s at Brandon’s house.

“But I didn’t, so it’s ok? Nothing happened,” he guesses it’s the wrong thing to say when Brandon’s brow creases. He forces himself to take another bite of pasta.

“But it could have, is my point,” He sighs and Alex still vaguely feels like he did something wrong but he doesn’t know what. “I’m just saying, that if you want to do it again, and I’m not saying that you do but _if_ , we need to talk about it properly.”

Alex is suddenly glad that they’re having this conversation over food, because he can’t talk with his mouth full and it gives him time to think without looking like he’s stalling and it stops him from blurting out something stupid.

Brandon waits until he swallows to say anything else.

“Did you like it?”

Alex flushes and stops himself from hunching up his shoulders. He nods.

“Okay. Do you want to do it again?” Brandon’s voice is soft, and it’s serious but not grave. It makes Alex feel better about his answer, but it’s still hard to say it.

“Yes.” He eventually manages, making sure to look at Brandon when he says it.

“Okay.”

Brandon smiles, no more than a quirk of his lips but it’s enough that Alex relaxes a bit, and takes another bite.

After they’ve eaten they move to the sofa and they talk. When they’ve finished talking they watch TV together until Alex’s eyes are drooping and Brandon drives him home.

Alex now knows about the traffic light system, and has a safe gesture for when he can’t talk. He didn’t ask many questions, just let Brandon say everything he felt that he had to, but he listened because Brandon made it clear it was important if they were going to do this again in the future.

They’re going to do it again. That’s what Alex thinks about when he’s in bed that night, and he feels a small thrill run up his spine at the idea of it being a regular thing.

\---

It happens the same way every time.

After a practice Prusty will invite him for lunch, just the two of them, and they’ll go back to his house.

Alex will help him make something simple to eat and they’ll eat together at the kitchen table, chatting idly.

Then Brandon will put the dishes in the dishwasher and lead him over to the sofa.

They’ll get comfortable, and Brandon will wrap his hands around Alex’s neck and choke him.

Alex’s eyes will always flutter shut at the rush of sensations, and Brandon will always remind him to keep them open. Alex always feels something hot low in his stomach when he does what he’s told.

They’ll do it until Alex is boneless and contented, and he’ll melt into Brandon’s ridiculous leather sofa with a soft smile on his face and his eyes closed, happily floating back to himself with the TV playing softly in the background. Brandon’s hand always cups softly around the back of his neck, warm and steadying.

He’s never gotten so lost in that feeling that he’s passed out or lost awareness of his surroundings, but it still feels nice, still leaves him blissed out and happy for hours afterwards.

They’ll stay like that until Alex feels like himself again and then Brandon will drive him home after a few episodes of whatever crappy reality show he’s found.

It’s both everything Alex wants and not enough.

He tries to be happy with what he gets, it’s good, it’s really good, but it’s still missing something, and Alex doesn’t put a name to what that is.

He does his best to keep this thing they do separate from the way he feels about Brandon, not wanting to make it weird when it’s not even sexual, it’s just a guy helping out his friend.

He gets himself off every night thinking about it, and he can’t keep the hands around his neck in his fantasy from being Brandon’s hands, can’t stop picturing Brandon’s face above his, can’t stop himself from imagining what else might happen.

When he’s lying in bed with come cooling on his stomach he still feels a little hollow, and somehow he feels closer to knowing what he’s missing, but he still can’t name it.

He still thinks about it a lot.

\---

It’s a few months later when things change.

They’ve just lost to the Flames at home, 1-0, and it was Alex’s fault.

No one tells him it’s his fault but he knows. It was a frustrating game and Alex got called for hooking in the third period, and the Flames scored the winning goal on the power play.

None of them are happy, a heavy silence lying in the dressing room, but Alex is too caught up in his own head to calm himself down.

He strips off his gear jerkily and manages not to throw it down, but only just. By the time he comes back from the shower is anger is less likely to spill over into violence but still coils tightly under his skin.

Alex walks out of the dressing room gritting his teeth. Prusty stops him with a hand on his arm in the corridor.

“I’ll drive you home.” It’s not a question, but Alex wouldn’t have said no if it was.

He’s not really that surprised when they end up at Prusty’s house. Alex still feels the frustration simmering inside him but there’s a little spark of something else there now at the promise of something that will make it feel better.

When Brandon unlocks his front door Alex follows him through and heads straight for the sofa, pulling off his tie as he goes. Brandon sits next to him and looks at him, the same as all the other times they’ve done this before, but this time he lays a hand on the side of his neck and strokes his thumb over his throat.

“Yeah?” Brandon asks. He’s asking if this is what he wants, and he nods. He always wants this. Alex’s nod isn’t enough because Brandon is still looking at him expectantly.

“Green.” It’s the right answer.

This time when Brandon wraps his hands around Alex’s neck, Alex tips his head back to bare his throat to him, and his eyes flutter shut when the hands start to squeeze.

He can already feel the itch of anger fade, feel the tension running out of his muscles. It’s exactly what he needed. The rush of oxygen to his brain chases the buzzing out of his head and when the pressure returns it only feels better, it feels so much better than the other times they’ve done this but he can’t follow the thought any further before it’s slipping away, unimportant.

His head feels so thick already, blissfully empty. He thinks he hears himself make a noise, high in the back of his throat, but it barely registers.

“Open your eyes for me, Chucky,” Brandon’s voice come through the haze, firm but safe, and it takes a few seconds for him to translate his words into movement. He opens his eyes and finds Brandon’s face, who has a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Good boy.”

\---

The first thing Alex registers is the dim noise of a TV playing at low volume, the words running together until it’s just sound. He doesn’t want to open his eyes yet. He’s lying down, and he’s pleasantly warm. He still feels like he’s floating and his head is still blissfully empty.

It takes him a while to register the solid warmth along his back and the hand running up and down his side, over his shoulder and the curve of his hip. It feels nice, grounding. He lies for a while, content to just focus on that hand and nothing else.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been when the hand stops running over his side and moves up to his neck, scratching gently through the short hair at the nape of his neck. It sends a slow warmth curling down his spine and into his stomach. His focus is narrowed to the fingers in his hair and he doesn’t know why he shouldn’t enjoy it, why it might be a bad idea.

The hand stops suddenly, and it takes a few seconds for Alex to focus enough to realise that he’d made a noise, and that his hips were pressing backwards into something solid. Realisation cuts through the dreamy haze in his head and he freezes. He’s on Brandon’s sofa, the hands were Brandon’s, and he’s grinding back into Brandon’s hips.

He feels the sofa dip a little as Brandon moves and Alex squeezes his eyes shut, tense and waiting for a punch and the outrage that’s surely coming.

It surprises him when Brandon places a hand on his shoulder and pulls him backwards instead of shoving him away from him, and he looks up into Brandon, who’s resting on his elbow and leaning over Alex slightly.

“Hey,” he smiles, and Alex manages a tentative smile back, still unsure what to expect.

He definitely doesn’t expect Brandon’s eyes to drop to his lips and for him to move closer. His intent is clear and he moves slowly enough that Alex could stop him if he wanted to. Alex doesn’t want to.

Brandon kisses him. It’s more of a press of lips, testing and gentle, but it’s so good. All of the times he let his mind drift to this alone in bed seem far away now.

Alex kisses back. He presses up into Brandon, and when Brandon’s hand runs over his collarbones to curve around his neck, thumb gentle over his throat as always, Alex whimpers into his mouth.

It’s not tentative after that. Alex rolls over fully onto his back and Brandon swings a leg over his to slot their thighs together and Alex groans when his thigh presses against his crotch. His hands move to Brandon’s sides and his nails dig in a little when he feels the hand around his neck squeeze.

It’s not hard enough to restrict his breathing, especially not just one hand, but it makes him shiver and keen into the kiss. Brandon pulls back so that they’re breathing the same air, and Alex’s noises aren’t muffled anymore. He squeezes his neck again, a little harder this time, and Alex’s hips buck up against Brandon’s thigh.

Alex moves his hands to Brandon’s belt, fumbling to get it open with clumsy fingers, his co-ordination shot. Brandon pulls back to rest on his heels to open his belt and pull it off, throws it to the side already forgotten about. He does the same for Alex, taps his hip lightly to get him to lift them up so that he can get the belt out of his trouser loops.

The chill he felt on his chest when Brandon pulled back is replaced with a wave of heat when Brandon palms his cock. He pushes up into it and moans. When nothing happens for a few beats Alex opens his eyes. Brandon is watching him, hesitating. Alex thinks for a second that Brandon isn’t into this, but his trousers are tented and his breathing is coming fast.

“Please,” his voice is rough, “green, please, just.” He cuts himself off with a groan as Brandon moves his hand over his dick again, and then starts to undo his flies.

Brandon gets their trousers opened without much help from Alex and he shoves them down just enough than when he lowers himself back over Alex, their dicks slot together between them. Alex can’t stop his hips from twitching up chasing the sensation.

Brandon leans down to kiss him again, tongue dipping into his open mouth before he pulls back just enough to lick a broad stripe up his own palm before returning to Alex’s mouth, and he reaches down to take both of them in his hand.

It’s so much, exactly what he needs and not quite enough at the same time, just like everything else. It’s a little rough, dry, and the drag of Brandon’s palm sends sparks up Alex’s spine and he can’t keep still. He’s squirming, hands clenching on Brandon’s shoulders. It’s so good but he still wants more, he wants everything.

There’s no real finesse, it’s quick and dirty, and Alex is so close already. Brandon moves down and trails kisses up his neck and his spine arches. He’s not even aware of the noises he’s making anymore.

When Brandon bites his neck his back bows even harder and he comes between them, losing himself for a few seconds. The burn in his lungs reminds him he needs to breathe, and he listens to Brandon’s breathing, huffing and muffled in his neck. It only takes a few more strokes for him to follow Alex over the edge and then he slumps, half over Alex and half on the sofa. Brandon is heavy, but the weight of him on Alex’s chest is comforting rather than uncomfortable, so he lies there breathing heavily and slightly dazed, content to drift for a while.

It’s a few minutes before Brandon pushes himself up on his arm again and looks at Alex. He smiles, and pushes himself up to stand.

“Be right back,” he murmurs, and Alex hums in reply. Brandon comes back with a damp cloth and makes Alex sit up a little.

They’re a mess. There’s come on both of their shirts and Alex can’t make himself care. He strips off his dress shirt and uses the cloth to wipe what mess is left off his stomach and hands it back to Brandon, who does the same. He takes a second to be thankful that they didn’t come in their pants when he tucks himself away and does up his trousers.

Brandon comes back from the kitchen without the cloth and sits on the sofa, pulling Alex into him with an arm around his shoulders, and Alex goes without resistance.

They watch TV for a while, just like they’ve done so many times before, and Alex feels good.

\---

Brandon drove him home later. He gave him a hoodie before they left, a little tight on him but warm enough. He could smell Brandon’s cologne on it. He’s still wearing it.

He thinks about it, about everything, when he’s lying alone in bed that night, and the hollowness is his chest is gone.

He falls asleep happy and content.


End file.
